During the roughly three minutes that Shane Wiskas faced the media, he kept his answers short. He mostly just stared at the person he was speaking to with his reddened eyes. He fidgeted in his seat, perhaps because he wanted to distance himself from what would become the symbolic end of his career.
Wiskas and the adoring fans who packed the Target Center in Minneapolis assumed Saturday night's news would focus on the kid from Minnesota and his triumphant return to the Olympic team. It's always a good story when a hometown hero takes center stage. Wiskas's absence from the five was the cruellest twist of all, because what matters most here isn't individual placement but how well a particular routine can boost the U.S. team's score.
“Um, I mean, numb,” Wiskas said when asked how he felt about being named one of two alternates.
We tune in to this event every four years because the stakes are not only high, but astronomical. The casual or lazy spectator doesn't need to know about the confusing scoring system or the career achievements of players who have been virtually unknown for the past three years. The reason we watch, the reason our blood pressure soars (as if we're about to land) is simple: we're here for the stories.
Mainstream viewers who live happily outside the gymnastics orbit — viewers who don't know the difference between parallel bars and pommel horse — likely had never even heard of Wiskas before Saturday's televised event, but you don't need to know him to know what happened on that field.
The 25-year-old man had dedicated his life to the single-minded pursuit of one thing. He had been flipping since he was a child, and now he was at a turning point in his life. One wrong move and his career was over. And that make-or-break moment would play out in front of his family, friends and former teammates. He was at home. As the public address announcer announced his name as the last of the cast, the roars of some 16,000 fans announced that this was the last time. his event.
Wiskas let himself go in that moment to soak up all the love, staying onstage for a moment and giving a heart gesture back to the crowd. He wasn't the best gymnast in the field (Richards wasted no time in earning that honor), but Wiskas was a Minnesota guy. He had home-court advantage and motivation.
“Knowing that this could be the last tournament of my career, I decided to have a little fun,” Wiskas said after Thursday's first-round competition.
Wiskas, who was selected for the 2021 Olympic team, had previously considered retirement. The thought eventually took hold. This week, Wiskas returned to the hometown of his former University of Minnesota stardom and seemed determined. If he doesn't make the Olympic team, the Minneapolis trials will likely be his last.
Wiskas wasn't going to go down without a fight, and he pumped his fist a lot. After the floor exercise, Wiskas, who looks like he's never missed a lifetime of working out his chest and arms in the weight room, flexed his biceps with glee. After finishing his routine in the ring and landing successfully, Wiskas clapped his hands vigorously and created a plume of chalk smoke.
On the final event, the parallel bars, Wiskas started just as the others stopped. All eyes were on him, the NBC cameras following his every swing, dip and handstand. When he finished, the crowd cheered their hero. “Let's go!” he yelled, then put his hands over his ears to hear the fans yelling even louder.
“It was a great two days of competition,” Wiskas said later, trailing off.
The run up to the Olympics has been tough for many big-name athletes. Asing Mu, who won gold in the 800 meters at the Tokyo Olympics, tripped and fell during the track and field trials. But she's only 22 years old. There's already a storyline for her revenge in Los Angeles in 2028. Elaine Thompson-Heller, once the fastest woman in the world, was forced to withdraw from the Jamaican trials due to injury, but her legacy is already paved with gold. Alex Morgan was dropped from the U.S. Women's Soccer roster, but her contributions to the sport and to the pay equity movement will never be forgotten. U.S. Open winner Bryson DeChambeau was not selected for the U.S. team because he didn't have enough Official World Golf Ranking points. But it's perfectly fine to wipe away your tears with the big money he'll receive from Saudi Arabia.
Those athletes have either achieved their Olympic dreams or are wealthy enough to make a comfortable living. Wiskas is struggling differently. He has dedicated his life to the sport that is second only to women's, and after a successful career, the light is soon to be extinguished — and perhaps an Olympic medal is still elusive.
After the competition was over, the participants left the venue and the selection committee deliberated to choose the rest of the team to fly with Richard to Paris. Wiskas came in third overall and felt he had done well enough to be a finalist.
“Well, I think I deserved it…” he said, but again the sentence was cut short.
As the team was announced, a lucky few sprung out from backstage and into the spotlight. Like the five gymnasts who made the team, Wiskas received a bouquet of white flowers. He stood next to them on the stage, wearing the same blue Nike warm-ups. But when Wiskas appeared for the last time at Target Center, he was no longer pumping his fists or flexing his muscles. The cheers from the crowd felt more sympathetic. They were applauding the replacements.
“You're not human if you don't have those feelings for these incredible athletes,” said Brett McClure, director of high performance who helps select the men's team. “All of these athletes put it all on the line and have been training their whole lives for this so it's just heartbreaking. Unfortunately, it sucks for those who didn't make it, but it's amazing for those who did. It's a life-changing event for them. The rollercoaster of emotions is just real and in my position it never gets any easier to manage.”
It's a strange thing to lament the end of a dream in front of a group of strangers with a notepad and a microphone, but Wiskas did so because of a media mandate from USA Gymnastics. When a local reporter asked him the same question about how he was feeling, Wiskas replied with just one word: “numb.” When the same reporter began asking how tough it was to not make the national team despite all the “great things” he'd done, Wiskas was the epitome of Minnesota graciousness.
“I won't answer any more of your questions, sir,” Whiskas said calmly and coolly.
Whiskas looked around and asked if anyone had any more questions. When no one spoke, Whiskas turned to the volunteer and asked how he got back to the other end of the line, where Whiskas' luggage was.
While Richard delivered a quick soundbite (“… I love Minnesota! I'd do anything to get my men's team back!”), Whiskas dropped to the floor and picked up his garment bag and bouquet of flowers. Then he was gone. Story over.
